


Unchanged Affections

by teatales



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Regency, Aromantic, Aromantic Aziraphale (Good Omens), Aromantic Romance, Cupioromantic, Fluff, Historical Inaccuracy, Light Angst, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Marriage of Convenience, No Period Typical Homophobia, Queerplatonic Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Queerplatonic Relationships, Think again!, Weddings, oh you thought i wouldnt get my grubby little aromantic hands all over your favourite tropes?, you think i wouldnt include microlabels?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-04
Updated: 2020-08-29
Packaged: 2021-02-27 14:36:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,139
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22108720
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/teatales/pseuds/teatales
Summary: The tale of how Misters Crowley and Fell were married.AKA the aromantic Regency AU nobody wanted
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 40
Kudos: 58
Collections: Aspec-friendly Good Omens





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This initially started as a drabble for my aromantic GO collection but it got quickly out of hand. You can find that and all of my aromantic fics at this [link](https://archiveofourown.org/works?utf8=%E2%9C%93&commit=Sort+and+Filter&work_search%5Bsort_column%5D=revised_at&work_search%5Bother_tag_names%5D=Aromantic&work_search%5Bexcluded_tag_names%5D=&work_search%5Bcrossover%5D=&work_search%5Bcomplete%5D=&work_search%5Bwords_from%5D=&work_search%5Bwords_to%5D=&work_search%5Bdate_from%5D=&work_search%5Bdate_to%5D=&work_search%5Bquery%5D=&work_search%5Blanguage_id%5D=&user_id=teatales)
> 
> Also yes, I know I have a bunch of WIPs I should have been working on, but sometimes you read a bunch of Regency/historical arranged marriage AUs and can't stop thinking about certain things. And then you write half of it in your lunch break. Things happen.
> 
> For the record I did NO research for this and do NOT care about historical accuracy AT ALL. Don't comment about it, I genuinely do not care. Lots of people in fandom enjoy research and history and I am not one of them.
> 
> In this, Aziraphale is aromantic but is very happy to be in a 'romantic' relationship (cupioromantic). Obviously if he had modern language it would be a qpr but y'know, there's limits. There isn't period typical homophobia in this 'verse but there is still amatonormativity and the like including insecurity on Aziraphale's part. I think it's fairly minor and Crowley loves him so much. Tiniest of mentions of being allosexual as 'normal', which is obviously false.

On the surface it appeared, for all intents and purposes, to be a love match. Misters Crowley and Fell has grown up alongside each other and, several years after their respective debuts, came together in another way. Oh, how some of the townsfolk swooned. It was a novel-worthy story and a dream of many young persons come true.  
  
Azira had for some years seemed intended for the Church. His whole family were particularly devout and as the third son it was a decent enough occupation. He, too, thought that might be his calling, and dedicated many of his hours to studying as was appropriate for one in his position. But even the happiest of vicars had a certain air of judgement and shame about them in turn that put Azira off. The less said about the sour vicars, the better.  
  
After some prodding by his companion Azira realised that he enjoyed good drink and food and company and reading (not just of the good book) too much to dedicate himself to that holy pursuit. It would not be fair to any of the parties involved, least of all himself. He was left to return to contemplation of his uncertain future.  
  
Crowley, in turn, just did exactly as he liked, always. His inheritance had guaranteed that and with his relations being out of the picture (parents dead, uncle a gambler, each sort of second-cousin and twice-removed worse than the last) he was left to do what he wanted. He was the Lord of his estate and conducted himself as such. It was large, with decent enough grounds and fertile soil. The garden, of course, was immaculate. Crowley would not allow anything less.

He had garnered a reputation over the years due to his frivolity and indulgence of himself and his companion by frequent trivial purchases. It was quite the ruse to keep money-seeking leeches at bay. Crowley did indeed manage his money well and had few needs and wants unsatisfied. Despite his excellent relationship with the staff and frequent visits with Azira, the large house was too much for a single man.  
  
Therefore when Gabriel became occupied with climbing up the ranks of the church, Michael had married one of Crowley’s dreaded cousins and moved counties, and Azira had begun to mope about his lack of future and prospects, Crowley had the solution.  
  
“Marry me!”  
  
Azira turned from where he had been admiring the river. “What did you just say?”  
  
Crowley stepped closer and swallowed the bite of apple in his mouth. A pleasant walk in the countryside was the perfect way to while away a summer afternoon in both there minds, and they had been for some time talking on the subject at hand. Crowley had stolen one of the apples along their journey, which Azira had berated him for. 

“Azira, consider it. You don’t want anything to do with your family, you certainly do not want to join the church, your books can only go so far. Am I not decent enough for you?”  
  
Azira opened and closed his mouth twice before he regained some sense of composure. “I never thought you were one for marriage, Crowley. A Lord and bachelor like you, settled down? With some third-son bookseller whose youth has all but fled? I cannot believe it, nor will any of the persons in the town.”  
  
“That is not at all the point of this discussion, though I refute you talking about yourself like that. And when have I ever minded what those blasted people think of me?” Crowley threw the apple core away and removed his dark spectacles to reveal his bright and thoughtful eyes. 

“Would you not like to spend our years together? Is there another’s company which you prefer?” he asked softly. His good humour seemed discarded along with the devoured fruit.  
  
“You know there is not,” Azira countered. “There has never been a hope for a love match for me and the suitors Gabriel has hinted at...” he shuddered at the very notion. “But you, Crowley! With your charming features and sharp wit. You could have anyone you desire and you would be happy. True happiness, in that of marital love. Something I would never be able to give you.” 

Azira sighed and broke their gaze to sit upon a fallen log. His head came to rest between his sunken shoulders. He had always known his… condition would make relationships difficult. Not too many people achieved a love match, of course, but it had become the fashion to entertain the idea at the very least. Many, particularly those with a passion for reading, hoped and dreamed for it. Azira could not allow himself to prevent Crowley from finding his own. He would not be able to live with himself.  
  
Crowley sat down next to him and Azira could feel his gaze upon his cheek. He continued to stare at the water. “You’re the only one I desire, angel,” Crowleywhispered above the rush of the river and the sounds of his pounding heart.  
  
At the childhood nickname Azira turned. It had been bestowed after he, not his brother, had been granted the role of the angel Gabriel in one year’s nativity play. Azira had protested, of course, both to the role and the endearment. The school mistress would not hear anything about it, and Crowley merely responded by extolling Azira’s angelic virtues. In private, at least. There were some small concessions. The name had stuck all throughout the years and slipped out when Crowley was at his most honest and most contented. 

Crowley had leaned forward into Azira’s space but did not yet touch him. His face was flushed and his heart was true.

“Azira. I have known you almost all of my life. There is not a day that has passed without a thought of you, even when we are parted.”

Crowley’s hands were clasped tight in his lap. He was usually of the habit of swinging them about throughout his speech. Azira had never seen him so restrained, holding back so much. It was like he was a wound up top and had to continue on until all his words had been spun out. 

“ _Is this a book he would like? I must remember to tell him about the scones I had_. _The ducks, they remind me of that summer. Oh, the tea here smells like him._ Everything I have ever done has been to grant you happiness because that is how I, myself, am happiest. How could I possibly want any other, for any length of time, over spending my life with my best friend?” he challenged. “Have I caused you to doubt our relationship, how much I value you?” 

His confusion was palpable in the air between them and obvious upon his furrowed brow. Azira tried to take hold of himself, for both their sakes. 

“Never, not even for one moment. You know what my siblings are like, what our relationship is. I do not spend much time outside of your or their company (and what contrasts they are). Never mind all that,” he shook his head to rid himself of the thought. “Oh, Crowley. You really would marry me, wouldn’t you? Even though I have nothing to offer, nor can I reciprocate those feelings which couples long for? Though I may never give you… other things, that every man desires?” 

Crowley rolled his eyes. “Angel, what nonsense is this about possessing nothing to offer? Only your sense of humour, more wicked than mine? Your discerning mind and knowledge of books, that far surpasses any other? Your joyful disposition, cheerful laughter, cherubic visage? Your warmth and sincerity? Nothing, of course,” concluded Crowley sarcastically. 

The end of the speech had Azira blushing from head to foot. He could hardly move or speak, he was so overcome with emotion. 

“And pah to those feelings. What worth is there in unguaranteed infatuations? Fleeting passions? What could they offer me more than your company? I would prefer it over sentimental looks and tangled sheets. Infinitely prefer it. I know where I stand with you and I am contented in it. There is nothing to be done to alter your composition, nor would I wish you changed. Is _that_ satisfactory?”

Only then did Azira truly hear the words that had been spoken. The obvious care and hope in Crowley’s words, though he wished to conceal his truest feelings. The opportunity that lay before him, the chance of a lifetime. He could not help but throw his arms around his dear friend. 

“Of course I’ll marry you! Yes!” Azira pulled back to hold Crowley by the shoulders and grin ridiculously at him. “Particularly after you have put up with all of my foolishness. Oh, my dear, you have me all a flutter,” a warm hand cupped Crowley’s cheek. He watched Azira's reaction with amusement. 

“Marriage! A wedding! Oh my goodness. Thank you, Crowley. Truly. You have made me happier than you will ever know. I only endeavor to make you the same.” His eyes sparkled with unshed tears of joy.

For a moment the couple shared a breath and look, as the knowledge that they were betrothed crystallised in their hearts and minds.

“When shall we announce it? At tomorrow’s ball? Oh, we haven’t got rings. That will appear improper, though I know you don’t care for that sort of thing-"

As Azira fussed over societal obligations Crowley shifted slightly to reach inside his coat pocket. Between two fingers he held up the newly produced glinting bands. 

“Surprise?” 

Azira placed his hands firmly on his hips in hope of coming across as somewhat intimidating. He was far too happy for that to be anywhere close to effective. “Anthony Crowley, just how long have you been planning this spectacle?” 

Crowley smirked. “I don’t believe that you would enjoy that question’s answer. Here, allow me,” he quickly distracted and reached out for Azira’s hand. 

Azira offered it up willingly, previous indignation already forgotten, and held still as the ring was slipped on. With warm fingers he plucked the other ring from Crowley and repeated the action for him. For a moment they admired the sight of their fingers interlaced, gold bands shining in the sun. 

“I have to forgive you since you have given me such a pretty thing,” Azira said as he studied his new decoration. He let his hand fall away from his face to look properly at his companion. “I still cannot believe you think I am worth all of this fuss.” 

Somehow during that speech their hands had become joined, drawn in together like magnets. “Course you are. Pretty ring for a pretty angel. Perfectly "enough" for the fiancé of Lord Crowley, do you not agree?” Crowley teased. 

“Fiancé! Oh, I’m going to be your _husband,_ " gushed Azira.

It didn’t appear that that thought had become apparent to Crowley. Or at least, it was still a new enough conception that his smirk fell into an incredibly soft smile. Azira squeezed his hand. 

“If I were more regular this is where we would kiss, would we not?” Azira could not help but add. One voice amongst many was not enough to remove him of his lifelong expectations. 

Crowley leaned in at the question and a chill momentarily danced along Azira’s spine. What if Crowley’s apparent understanding had been a mere charade? Those lips, however, landed not on his own but on his forehead, against the hair which Crowley had oft described as a ‘halo'.

After a moment Crowley withdrew. “Keep your lips to yourself until _you_ desire otherwise. I will be contented in either case,” he assured. 

Azira’s heart soared. He was indeed the luckiest of men in all of England. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A wedding requires an awful lot of planning, it seems.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little more drama in this one, folks. I think it could be classified as light angst but it gets resolved pretty quickly. 
> 
> Enjoy~

The wedding was a grander affair than either of them would have liked. Azira _was_ most pleased with the reception due to the selection and array of foodstuffs but beside that small saving grace, the rest was almost too much for them to bare. 

Out of the couple Azira was more concerned with doing what was considered to be the _proper_ and _right_ thing. Crowley had offhandedly mentioned the idea of eloping a single time and the cold glare he received caused the thought to be banished from his mind and tongue evermore. Still, it was an excessive amount of fussing and planning and decision-making to endure, even if the result would be worth it. 

Azira had thought, in theory, that he would enjoy the process. After all, he did so love a party or ball (much to Crowley’s anti-social horror). But after a week of not being able to walk down the street without being stopped to be congratulated and the untangling of each (apparently) necessary step into a thousand smaller ones, he was exhausted. 

What was worse was that now they were officially betrothed they were meant to conduct themselves with _propriety_ , as Gabriel so gladly put it. In both of their opinions it was utter nonsense, though Crowley used harsher language than that. Obviously no one needed to worry about… physical urges, or the consequences thereof, but the couple were still forced to act as though it was a likely possibility. 

Luckily they were old enough that having a chaperone for their meetings would come across as odd and unnecessary. Yet, neither was allowed to stay over at the other’s house for the length of their engagement. Even if the staff would swear up and down that they remained in separate rooms, it would be considered most shameful. 

It was harder for Azira, who had to deal with his immediate family. Often Crowley’s home would be a welcome reprieve for him from his siblings’ judgement and hostility, but now he was forced to remain there during the hours in which other locations would be deemed ‘unsuitable’. 

The initial period of Azira’s time at home was taken up with endeavouring to stop Gabriel from demanding too much of Crowley’s coin-purse as they drew up the marriage contract. He spent much of that week walking among the fields as he attempted to keep his temper in check. He, for the most part, succeeded; even when Gabriel suggested _he_ be the one to officiate the ceremony. Azira stopped that particular idea as soon as he could. 

When allowed to see Crowley, the majority of time was spent complaining about all of the daily happenings or the planning of the wedding or the contract. It felt like they had no time nor room to breathe, let alone enjoy each other’s company. 

Fortunately as plans settled into place, everything began to quieten down. It was then only a matter of waiting for the blessed day. Crowley spent a lot of his time occupied with ensuring the house would be ready and suitable to Azira’s taste, whilst concealing his fussing from his fiancé. He did not wish to appear too over-eager lest he turn him away. Azira, in turn, prepared for his new life out of his family home, and learned what he could about running a household. Thankfully many of the staff around the village, including Crowley’s own, were amenable to his company and questions. 

As the wedding was to occur two weeks hence, Crowley’s relatives began to arrive in anticipation of the ceremony, as did many of the out of town guests neither thought would actually attend. The couple were separated once more by obligations of lunches and dinners and teas; polite conversation and enquiries about London. It was all in all a dreadful and loathsome business indeed. 

Crowley retreated more and more into the version of a man neither particularly liked. Short-tempered and hard of speech, he spent more time brooding than a hen in the springtime. After Azira bid farewell to their third dinner guests of the week and apologised for his ill-behaved fiancé, he had reached his limit. 

Crowley had remained at the table, wineglass in hand, looking the perfect picture of the terrible lord he thought himself to be, half hidden in candlelight. 

“If you truly did not wish to marry me, Crowley, you shouldn’t have proposed,” announced Azira as he stood in the doorway. 

_That_ caused Crowley to sit up with a start from where he had been sprawling and to spill some wine in the process. 

“Wha’!?” 

He was listening. Good. 

Azira walked further into the room. “All of this is part and parcel with our upcoming nuptials and though I, too, loathe a great deal of it, it could be far worse. If you do not believe marrying me is worth it to put up with uncouth guests and endless amounts of planning, we should not have become engaged.” 

“That’s not. I mean. Hnngh, no, yes, well,” Crowley stood up abruptly and slammed his glass to the table. After a moment he thought better of it and drained it in one. “ _Angel.”_

As he stammered Azira came to stand by his side. It would not do to have this conversation divided by the dining table. 

“Yes?”

“Of course you are _worth_ it, there is no question about that! This whole thing has been somewhat of a trial, I mean, you do feel that also? Why would you…” he trailed off and studied Azira’s face, highlighted by the light of flame. “Oh. I have been wretched, haven’t I?” 

“I do believe that is a good word for it, yes.”

“Oh. Oh, angel, I am sorry,” Crowley reached out to take Azira’s hands. “You’ve had to put up with me on top of everything else, haven’t you?” The small amount of colour drained from Crowley’s face. “I’m sorry,” he finished in a small voice. 

Azira squeezed his hands. “I forgive you, my dear, although it has been quite difficult not even having my supposed partner on my side. You can understand that?” Crowley nodded glumly. “Well, there’s little to be done about changing the past, only of how we mean to go on,” he finished.

“Yeah,” said Crowley, a little breathless. His eyes were still closed. Azira pressed their foreheads together. 

For a few moments quiet settled in the room. No sound but their breaths between them. 

Then Azira pulled away and sank into the chair opposite Crowley’s. 

“I find I am rather exhausted,” said Azira with a small chuckle. He toed his shoes off and unbuttoned his waistcoat, sighing with relief. 

“More than understandable, angel.” Crowley dragged his chair forward and brought Azira’s stockinged feet into his lap. “D’you remember the fuss about Michael and Dagon’s wedding?”

“Oh, _god_ ,” Azira groaned. “We are not at all close outside of obligation and yet she kept dragging me into things. And then she moved counties! I have no idea why we went through all of that to never see her.” 

“And then at the party afterwards you promptly drained two whole glasses and could hardly stand.” 

“Well. I don’t recall _that_ ,” he added primly. 

Crowley snorted in a most undignified manner. “Course you don’t. You were drunk. Point is, we ended up in a very similar position to this as soon as everyone else was drunk enough not to notice.” 

Azira smiled and tipped his head back. “Whatever would I do without you, Crowley?”

“Suffer less, I imagine,” he muttered as he rubbed at Azira’s feet. 

Azira used a foot to poke him in the stomach. “Not funny, dear." 

Crowley stuck his tongue out in protest. 

“Hmph,” huffed Azira, then decided to drop the argument for the moment. It was too late for that sort of petty discussion. “I do love you, you know,” he said, looking at Crowley’s bent head.

Crowley continued his ministrations and gave a soft reply: “I know, angel. I know.” 

^^^ 

They survived the final fortnight together. Crowley had eased up on the dramatics, although he remained reluctant to discuss his emotions, even with Azira. He spent more time in the garden and in overseeing the final adjustments in preparation of the upcoming move in, which seemed to even his temper. 

The guests also became more busy organising their wedding outfits and fashions, which further helped to take some of the pressure off the couple. Everyone appeared to buzz at the prospect of a wedding, as if there weren’t at least two a year already. 

They were set to be married in the local parish, as was the done thing. Azira knew Crowley had little faith in the church but it was to be expected. It was required in fact, and truly the only option unless they eloped per Crowley's suggestion. As a boy, Crowley was kicked out many a time for asking far too many questions of the holy scriptures and the doctrine instituted by the church. Azira privately thought his curiosity was warranted but, of course, could not say that aloud lest Gabriel hear. It made it hard for Azira to be permitted to associate with Crowley, when he was marked as a hellion from such a young age. Their friendship endured regardless. 

Crowley mostly grew out of it. Or, at least, learned that he would get nowhere with the town’s vicar, nor with most of their fellow churchgoers. He became quiet and contemplative, only exploding with righteous anger in private (which most often meant in Azira’s company). As he matured he was considered more of a man, and men would conduct themselves as they saw fit, no matter anyone else’s judgement. It was an easy transition for him from disobedient child to aloof lord. Azira stood by his side and only grew more confident in their relationship as the years went on, in spite of people’s judgement. 

The wedding day finally arrived with sunshine and the scent of jasmine in the air. Last minute rushing and stressing excluded, it was undeniably beautiful. 

The couple were banned from seeing one another until Azira arrived at the church. Crowley had, of course, threatened to sneak in, but they both knew with Gabriel lurking about it was a lost cause. 

Azira had wanted their dress to be a surprise. This, in turn, infuriated Crowley to no end. There was not a secret that he would not wish to uncover, nor bruise he wouldn’t wish to poke. But Azira had decades of practice in distraction and obfuscation, and kept his outfit hidden until he would be at the alter. He hoped Crowley would like it. 

He fiddled with his tie one last time in the looking glass and nodded. It would have to be good enough. 

^^^

Only a short distance down the road Crowley was threatening to wear a hole in the church’s floor with all his pacing. Fortunately he was hidden from the growing crowd in the back of the vestry, so it was only seen by him and the lot upstairs. The vicar had left him alone after a minute as he couldn’t bear to witness such a ridiculous display, nor stand to be in the same room as the man who had caused him many a headache. There was no one to comfort Crowley, either. It was quite awful enough that his family had been invited to the wedding, let alone be members of the party. He would be standing alone at the alter as soon as Azira (hopefully) arrived. By God did Crowley hope he would arrive. 

Crowley had promised his fiancé that he wouldn’t work himself into such a state but that was times past. There was a great deal of difference between saying you are to be married and actually becoming so. A vast, vast, difference, it seemed. 

Crowley began to contemplate calling the whole thing off to save the embarrassment of being abandoned when the vicar barged in, no knock on the door or other announcement. 

“Come on then,” he said and turned away, nose stuck high in the air. The expectation to follow was clear. 

Crowley did his best to swallow his panic, tugged at his jacket, and ran one final hand through his hair before he donned his hat. 

He was going to be married. 

He strode the short distance out to the alter. The crowd seemed so much larger from this vantage. Never-mind that now. He could see the queue of the wedding party at the front door, Azira presumably hidden at the back. Before he could contemplate that someone gave some sort of signal and the organist begun, only slightly off key. 

Afterwards Crowley could hardly recall who came forth and in what order. At some point he must have shaken Gabriel’s hand as was proper. He did faintly remember an awfully tight and sweaty grip from someone. Crowley could not remember not because of the drink - though he did make merry at the reception as was his right and obligation - but because all rational thought left his head as soon as he saw his soon-to-be husband. 

_Azira._ Looking like the angel Crowley always said he was in the door of the church, sun illuminating his form. He wore a pale cream-coloured suit and waistcoat, a perfect rose pinned to his lapel, and the biggest beaming smile right across his face he came down the aisle towards Crowley. 

Crowley had to tense his muscles to stop himself from running down to meet him and sweeping him up into a hug. His joy needed somewhere to escape in his forced stillness and he found himself suddenly in tears as Azira reached him. 

The crying was hidden by his dark spectacles and Crowley did his best to remain composed, lest he collapse into a puddle. He most probably appeared far too stoic and stiff for any wedding, let alone his own, to the onlooking crowd. It was clear Azira could obviously tell - the one person who knew Crowley best - and his smile softened into that of pure, sweet adoration as the vicar commenced the ceremony.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I haven't abandoned this fic! a lot of things happened and this wasn't a priority but here we are, brand new shiny chapter and all. and an updated chapter count! 
> 
> this still isn't my favourite thing i've ever written and tbh i'll probably end up rewriting it all one day but for now, enjoy!

It was a short and standard affair. The vowels were the traditional ones and they pronounced them as if they meant them. They did, in their own way, but they did not have the heart of them in those words specifically. Crowley’s were said quietly, his voice gone with the tears. Azira managed to hold it together until they were pronounced husband and husband. Their soft kiss cracked him wide open and his face was wet all the way back down the aisle. 

When they arrived outside of the church, hand in hand, they became suddenly drenched in shreds of confetti. Head to toe it clung to them, bright white and pink. Azira turned to his now husband and burst out laughing at how affronted Crowley looked. A twitch of the lip revealed Crowley was thinking the same thing—it was all quite ridiculous. They were surrounded by congratulations and well wishes as everyone got their look at the happy couple. 

Eventually most people began to walk over to the wedding reception and Crowley and Aziraphale had to return with the vicar to sign the marriage certificate. 

They followed him in, hand and hand. He hardly looked at them as they entered the church. Aziraphale felt almost as if he were in a dream. The only thing that tethered him to the earth was the touch of Crowley’s palm against him. Crowley too seemed like he was struggling to maintain his composure. 

The certificate was already out on the desk. It seemed the vicar had the forethought to get rid of them as soon as he could. He had been nice to Azira—as nice as the vicar was to anyone, that is—before he became such good friends with Crowley. Azira did not even care at the moment. They were _married._

With a few gruff mumblings and indications of the finger, Crowley and Azira had signed the document. Parchment and ink were not necessarily everlasting, but the gesture certainly felt like it had solidified their relationship. There bond had been witnessed, in front of everyone and God Herself, and it was official. 

The vicar mumbled something about the ink drying and posting the certificate to Crowley then hurriedly shooed them out of the church. Crowley grabbed Azira’s hand again and gently tugged him away, out the door, and into the sunshine. 

Azira let out a sigh of relief as the warmth hit his body. Everything suddenly felt clearer. The ceremony had put him in a daze but now, alone with Crowley, out in the spring air, Azira felt like himself again. He turned to his husband ( _his husband!_ ) which an uncontainable smile. 

Crowley’s expression was milder, but nevertheless pleased. Azira couldn’t find the words to capture his joy so he simply pulled on their joined hands and threw himself against Crowley. 

“Oomph!” Crowley exclaimed as he stumbled to hold them both upright. After a moment they found balance and he squeezed back. 

All of that soft, lovely body pressed right against his. Their hearts beat in their chests, almost daring to leap out towards one another. Crowley did not believe he would ever get used to such sensation. 

It was minutes before they separated. Azira only let go properly after he pressed a gentle kiss to Crowley’s left cheek, the other cradled in his palm. 

Neither of them could cease smiling as they were so incredibly happy. 

Alas, they knew there was still long to go before they could truly revel in their time alone. No words were said there, outside the church in the sunshine. They were not needed. Instead they made their way over to the reception in pure silence but for the birdsong that accompanied them. 

^^^

The sound announced the size of the party before they gained sight of all their guests. Crowley grimaced—he was not one at all for social gatherings like Azira was. He tightened his grip on his husband’s hand in hopes it would give him strength. 

The porter stationed outside the door grinned at their appearance and quickly stalled them from entering before they were announced. A hush fell on the other side of the ballroom’s door. 

The porter nodded and opened it for them as the bandleader called out: “Mister and Mister Crowley-Fell!” 

Cheers and applause rang throughout as they were welcomed into the party as a married couple. They were stopped for a few handshakes and congratulations on the way, but eventually arrived in the centre of the floor. 

It was a traditional thing. The music started up, Crowley took Aziraphale in a close but not _too_ inappropriately close dance hold, and they began. None of it mattered because as they took the first step, the room faded away. 

Their eyes locked through the barrier of Crowley’s glasses. Azira had always been the sole person able to track his gaze despite the dark lenses. 

The pair moved on instinct, the movements somehow perfectly recalled in spite of Crowley’s constant refusal of lessons as a child. 

It felt like Azira had been transported into one of his novels. A dream made solid and bright. Dancing with his _husband_ at their _wedding_. 

Although Azira never had become possessed by those romantic urges that all people seemed to develop at one time or another, even for his dearest and oldest friend, Azira had still longed for such a union. He knew he would make a good husband. He was caring and attentive and companionable. But no one had ever grown as close as he and Crowley. 

Azira had always believed that one day some other more desirable person would enter Crowley’s life, and that would be the end of his futile hope. Never had he expected for Crowley to prefer him above any other. 

Crowley had always been cold. Both in personality and physical form. He had slowly warmed up in Azira’s embrace, and what a delightful sensation it was. Soft and gentle and unbelievably warm, holding Azira in his arms was indescribable. It was wondrous he didn’t trip over either of their feet, he felt unsteady and floating with joy. 

All too soon the song had finished and the silence was replaced with applause. They came to a stop and hardly separated as they retreated to their table. 

Finally, they were able to rest and sit down. They both let out sighs of relief as they fell into their chairs. Privately they both thought they would be able to have at least a few moments to themselves. 

Azira closed his eyes as the smell of dinner wafted into his nose. The action resulted in him missing the approach of Mr and Mrs Dashwood. 

“Congratulations, boys!” cooed Mr Dashwood. Azira’s eyes opened to slits as he took in the sight. 

He groaned internally as he plastered a strained smile on his face. “Thank you,” he replied, hoping the short answer would assist their departure. 

It didn’t. 

“You know, it was a beautiful wedding, reminded me of when we ourselves got married,” Mr Dashwood began. 

“Exactly,” Mrs Dashwood added. 

“The weather wasn’t as lovely as this, of course. Though it was lovely in its own way, wasn’t it dear?” He turned to his wife. 

She gave a small nod. “Quite.” 

“And, of course, we weren’t as fortunate as your Mr Crowley here. That certainly strained things. Oh, I suppose it is Crowley-Fell now, isn’t?” Mr Dashwood corrected with a chuckle. 

Azira wished anything to happen to rescue him from this dull conversation. His husband simply sat next to him, brooding. 

“Thank you again,” Azira said as he shook their hands. That finally got the Dashwoods to take their leave. 

Azira sank further into his chair. He gave Crowley a pointed look as he lifted his soup spoon. 

He barely had two mouthfuls before Miss Nash interrupted again. 

This time, Azira hardly managed to keep his smile in place as he made small sounds of agreement but contributed nothing to the discussion. 

By the time she had left Azira had given up on being polite to the well-meaning guests, and continued to eat his meal as various people spoke at him. The food became increasingly cold and his irritation only climbed. 

The next person to approach—the young Mr Parker, clearly starry-eyed at their union—was unfortunately on the receiving end of Crowley’s notorious bad temper. 

“My husband here would like to enjoy his dinner in _peace_ , if it’s all the same to you,” he declared loud enough for many of the other guests to hear. “You will have plenty of time to congratulate us later.” 

It wasn’t a question. 

Mr Parker scampered away, chastised, as the other people who had been en route to approach thought better of it. Azira knew Crowley was mostly amused by the whole thing—especially because very few people addressed him and instead continued to badger Azira—so it was very sweet of him to put a stop to it. 

Azira said so, thanking him as the next course arrived, but Crowley only waved him off as he continued to drink his champagne. 

Neither of them had anyone they wished to make a toast on their behalf, and by the time the cake begun to be served it appeared that most of their guests were so intoxicated that no one particularly noticed. Thank goodness they needn’t do _everything_ properly. If Azira heard one more person’s opinion on his wedding or marriage he felt he would hit them over the head. 

The cake was quite delicious—a lovely light sponge, filled with fresh cream and strawberries. It was so much easier to enjoy now that he wasn’t being watched. Azira let out a small contented noise as he took the first bite. Delicious indeed. 

The only person who appeared to be paying him any attention was his husband. Crowley’s plate was untouched in front of him and he stared unabashedly as Azira. His usually pale cheeks were stained dark. Azira could chalk it up to the champagne but with the look he was receiving perhaps Crowley was letting his desires be more known. It was sweet, even if Azira wasn’t that way inclined, and he knew Crowley would not try anything with him. It was nice to be wanted and loved, after believing so long it wouldn’t happen. 

Azira put his fork down with a happy sigh and Crowley immediately pushed his full plate over in silence. 

“Thank you, my dear. You spoil me.” Azira drained the rest of his glass and ate the cake more quickly this time, as he needn’t savour it as much. 

As soon as he placed his fork onto the second clear plate Crowley leaned in towards his ear. 

“Let’s go, shall we?” He whispered. 

For a moment Azira was struck with ideas of obligation. It was _their_ wedding after all, and they hadn’t truly done all that was required. They had only danced together once, and no speeches were made at all. But then he realised it was _their wedding_ and they could do exactly as they like, now. Besides all that, everyone seemed quite happy to be at a party (which is what it truly was) and neither Azira nor Crowley were needed for their continued enjoyment. 

“Yes, please,” Azira finally answered, and got to his feet. 

Crowley stood more slowly, clearly affected by how much he had been drinking, and took his husband’s hand. 

Fortunately they were situated next to a wall, the open door of which was only a short walk away. Crowley stumbled but Azira held him up, stepping closer and wrapping an arm around his waist to keep him steady. Oh, that felt heavenly. A few more steps down the hallway and they were out in the open air. 

It was delightfully cool compared to the warmth of the ballroom. Once they made it out of sight it was like something ignited inside of Azira. He wanted to be as far away from all those loathsome people as he could be. 

“Come on!” he suddenly exclaimed, his arm slipping down again to grip Crowley’s hand tight. He pulled him forward up the path. 

After a few moments Crowley comprehended what he meant to do and no longer dragged behind. He jogged forward to keep up with Azira, then broke out into a run. 

Crowley’s legs were longer but he was far drunker, so the pair kept up much the same speed. They ran up the path then to the left, away from the reception and towards Crowley’s house. 

Azira was quite out of breath when they had reached the edge of the grounds. Thank the Lord they lived in a small town and had chosen the closest venue possible. 

Crowley was still upright, somehow, though he looked a little sickly. Perhaps it wasn’t Azira’s most clever idea. The couple walked at a far more leisurely pace, down the path, up the stairs, and to the front door of what was to be their home. 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HELLO i am actually completing a wip can y'all believe it? [griffin mcelroy dab . gif]. despite the general shit show of the world and my mental health, nice comments and reading _Loveless_ by Alice Oseman has fueled me to finish this dang chapter! 
> 
> it's pretty soppy so romance averse folks might want to avoid. and again, azira is aro and i am also aro so i'm just writing my own experience of platonic feelings. everyone aro person is unique and different and wonderful and those experiences and feelings may differ. enjoy and thanks for reading!

As soon as they crossed the threshold Crowley removed his hat and jovially tossed it down the darkening hall. 

“Crowley!” Azira protested. “That’s not at all a sporting way to treat your best hat.” 

Azira’s husband merely snorted and continued to take off the outer layers of his clothing. Azira was tempted to pretend that he was scandalised by the gesture, but they were married now, and he was awfully tired. It’s not as if they were unfamiliar with each other, either. Although he was quite grateful that the staff were not there to witness Crowley’s brash conduct. Undressing but a metre from the doorway was not at all respectable. 

Azira stood silently there for a moment and watched as Crowley shook his hair out of its ribbon, which he had stuffed haphazardly into a pocket of his trousers. He was incredibly handsome, particularly in the light of the setting sun. 

A wicked grin then crossed the redhead’s face. 

“See something you like, angel?” He threw his liquor loosened limbs out into what Azira assumed was an approximation of a becoming pose. 

Azira blinked out of his stupor and had to suppress a snort. 

“Oh, really,” he replied and started to make his way slowly to the parlour. All he wanted to do was sit down and remove his shoes. Their run to the house was not the finest of his ideas. 

Crowley followed a few steps behind but when Azira made to enter the room an arm slipped around his waist and attempted to turn him away. 

Azira stopped moving and pivoted to face Crowley. “Dear, I really am not in the mood for your games. I need to get off my feet.” 

“So do I, angel, but if I let you rest down here we will never make it upstairs and I, for one, am determined to meet my wedding bed.” 

Azira sighed deeply, not at all pleased at the prospect of the staircase. “If we must.” 

They leaned into each other and set off (but the less said about their stumbling ascent to the bedroom, the better.)

Fortunately, they had already discussed their night-time arrangements prior to getting foxed. 

Azira now had his own large rooms down the hall from Crowley into which he was all but moved. Crowley had stated that he had far too many spare rooms in the first place, and he refused to hear any word of Azira insisting that it was too excessive a gesture. 

For their first night Azira had reasoned that they ought to do things properly–at least in terms of sharing a bed. It would also present a better image to the staff in the morning (though any employ of Crowley’s who dared to gossip about the master of the house would quickly find themselves ejected). 

Crowley had blushed his way through the entirety of the conversation as Azira had sheepishly assured him that his feelings towards a more physical dynamic to their relationship had remained unchanged. Crowley in turn stated that that was more than fine. 

This was, of course, in the context of holy matrimony (though all knew how ludicrous the ideas the church spewed were in regards to that particular topic). In other sorts of affection, the pair had often been closer than most due to the length of their friendship. 

There had been a number of conversations, both prior to and after they were engaged, about what was comfortable and what certain actions meant in the context of their relationship. These tended to occur late at night and were assisted by plenty of liquid courage. 

Crowley, as we know, had a very lonely upbringing. Thus, his friendship with Azira–the closest and most important in his life–was practically the only space wherein he expressed any of the warmer emotions. He had garnered the reputation of a cold and aloof lord for a reason.

Azira had never quite been like the other boys in their social circle–not only was he not interested in girls, but he didn’t appear at all concerned with the pursuit of any sort of relationship. Although for many years this was concealed under the guise of his dedication to the church, as his dearest friend Crowley knew far better for far longer than most. Since Azira was not one made for such affairs of the heart Crowley did, at points, worry that his tendency to express his emotions through touch would be somewhat offensive or inappropriate. Azira had assured him repeatedly that this was not the case and that he did in fact welcome the affection as he wasn’t to receive it elsewhere in his life. 

They had always been well-suited, it seemed. 

Crowley and Azira managed well enough to stumble about the room, washing their faces, combing their hair, and changed into their nightclothes without injury. (Azira had nearly fallen when he attempted to remove his shoes whilst standing up, but fortunately he stumbled onto the bed before he became well acquainted with the floor.) 

After these difficult tasks they all but collapsed on top of the sheets on Crowley’s large bed, Azira next to his new husband. They both luxuriated in the relief of no longer needing to remain vertical or perform for the town’s residents. 

Azira scrubbed a hand over his refreshed face and was shocked at the scratch of the metal ring sitting on his finger. Their union still felt quite dreamlike despite the evidence that it was indeed real. 

He turned to face Crowley, who appeared to be smiling daftly at the ceiling. 

“It was a nice wedding, wasn’t it?” Azira asked. Although he knew it did not particularly matter in the scheme of things as most of their guests would undoubtedly be drunk as wheelbarrows by now, he still was a tad insecure. 

“Nicest I’ve ever been to, certainly,” assured Crowley. “The vicar was cross as crabs, however.” 

Azira gaped at the statement. “Crowley! You can't say such things about the vicar.” 

“A vicar he may be. A vicar, and, and a goose!” 

It was not the finest of insults Crowley had ever crafted. 

Azira could no longer help it and raucous laughter burst forth from his lips. Crowley joined in soon after and they all but rolled off the bed in their fit of giggles. 

It took several deep breaths for Azira to calm down and feel less like he were about to explode. When he did, he realised how close they were now lying together, and how overjoyed he felt. He had not felt that happy in a long time. 

“I do wish I could’ve said what was in my heart during the ceremony,” he suddenly confessed. “Not the words of other people who don’t understand our union. I know, I know it would not have been appropriate and yet, I long for it.”

Crowley’s eyes glowed softly in the candlelight. “You could say them now,” he spoke in little more than a whisper. “If you like.”

Azira felt his heart siege in his chest and fumbled with a clumsy hand to grasp Crowley’s own. He raised the back of it to his lips and kissed it, then pressed it to his blushing cheek. 

“I, Azira Fell, take Anthony Crowley to be my husband.” The words thrilled him anew and he felt his breath catch as he faltered to think of what to say. 

“I promise to… always share my wine with you.” It was certainly a fitting beginning. “To read to you, whenever you like. To always have dessert, no matter where we are dining. To talk to you, to laugh with you, to laugh at you.” Crowley grinned at that. “To scold you for causing mischief. I promise to not subject you to my dancing too frequently.” His husband threw back his head and laughed. 

Azira continued with a smile. “I promise to be faithful and true. I promise to always be your friend, above all else. And I promise to love you, with all that I am, for all the days of our life.” He managed to complete his final sentence before tears started streaming down his face. 

Crowley was in a similar state, his own eyes shining with tears, and Azira knew how privileged he was to be a witness to Crowley so undone. 

“God, angel, how am I meant to compete with that?” He asked, voice thick with tears. Azira released his hand so Crowley could properly wipe his face. He cleared his throat before he spoke again.

“I, Anthony Crowley, take Azira Fell to be my h-husband.” He suppressed a sob at the last word and tried to carry on. “I promise to alwaysss love you, just as much as you d’serve, forever, and I will always, always give you a home.” 

For a moment they soppily stared at each other as Azira absorbed the heartfelt words. Then something sparked in his imagination. 

“Is that what all the renovations are about?” 

Crowley blinked owlishly at him and attempted to school his features into a resemblance of innocent confusion. “Wha– I mean– um. Perhaps?”

“You thought I wouldn’t notice? Really, Crowley.” It seemed some things would never change. 

“I was subtle!” He protested and sat up to somehow better prove his point. He wagged a long finger in Azira’s face. “I can be subtle!” 

Azira snorted at that ridiculous notion. 

Crowley collapsed onto his back once more and huffed with indignation. Azira let him stew for a moment, curious if he would get an explanation to the mysterious changes to the house he had noticed over the past months. 

Crowley then spoke in the softest voice Azira had ever heard him use. “I wanted you to feel at home. Here. With me.” 

And didn’t that just shred Azira’s heart to pieces? “My dear, dear boy.” He reached out with a gentle hand to cup Crowley’s cheek and turn his face back to him. “You’re the only thing I require to feel that way.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [i do have a sequel in mind where azira realises he's demisexual bc of the new closeness but i also really need to work on my important wip so idk when that'll happen lol.]
> 
> i'm always around even if i'm not posting and i read every single comment~ consider leaving one or a kudos or both idk! do what u want! be cool!

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on tumblr as always @ineffable-anathema x


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